To Anger An Old God
by ceejay18040
Summary: 6 years after the Archdemon is defeated, Sierra Mahariel returns to Denerim more changed than she had ever anticipated, to gather her friends back to her side to fight something far greater than any Blight.
1. Chapter 1

Large gatherings of overly puffed up self important humans were notoriously a nightmare for any large estate, and today, the King's household was beside itself. Maids bustled about with handfuls of clean linen for rooms, tripping over themselves and cursing the hounds and cats that were more than keen to wrap themselves up in the fresh cloth warmed from drying in the sun. The kitchens were even worse, with cooks and serving assistants cursing over ingredients, burnt thumbs, and who was going to pick up that bloody cake and why hadn't they left already! Still, things could be worse; it could all be going on during a blight!

Away from the fuss within the main hall of the palace, four of the most powerful men in Ferelden sat at the large oaken table in the centre, their earnest discussions punctuated with occasional bursts of laughter and the clapping of hands across broad backs. The arrangements for the prince and heir's fifth birthday party were to culminate in a scene of magnificence this evening, and the final decisions were being made concerning which guests should be singled out for special attention and who needed to be sent a last minute invitation. Unwilling to leave Ferelden so exposed and vulnerable in Her isolation as She was during the most recent Blight, the King had worked hard to create and maintain key alliances with neighbouring kingdoms in the land. Occasions such as a birthday party in honour of the future ruler were ideal for developing both new and existing friendships in a far less formal setting.

Alistair had taken to his new role very well. The past six years had taught him much, and he was now well renowned throughout the land for being a fair and just King. He had selected an Orlesian noblewoman of high standing for a wife, keen to undo the damage perpetrated by Teyrn Loghain's vicious tongue, and to prove to both peoples that the time for animosity was well and truly over. Despite their differences and contentious past, he believed that a prosperous and peaceful relationship between the two kingdoms could indeed be achieved, and so far it was going rather well.

He sat at the head of the table, running his hand through his closed cropped strawberry blond hair, trying to appear as if he was listening to his dear friend and Chancellor Arl Eamon, as the intricacies of the seating arrangements for dinner were discussed for the umpteenth time. Bann Teagan and Teyrn Fergus Cousland were also beginning to tire, and had turned to reminiscing over the drunken antics that had occurred late at night during the last birthday party. Truthfully, Alistair was far too aware of the red headed archer at his back, clad in close fitting black leather armour that showed off her curves to perfection, to be able to concentrate on anything at the moment.

Leliana was more than aware of her lover's discomfort, and had to work hard to keep a satisfied smile off her lips and maintain the stony gaze that was expected of the King's guard. Zevran, who guarded the main door to the hall opposite her, was having far more success at neutrality, despite having raised a suggestive eyebrow more than once in her direction. The King's marriage was purely political. Both parties were aware of and happy with this, and both had condoned the presence of lovers. The primary reason why the marriage was so successful was that Alistair had welcomed Lady Iona's lover into his household, and the two men had become regular sparring partners. In turn, Iona was also far more eager to be Alistair's friend and do what was right by Ferelden, and so the partnership was a happy if not passionate one.

The irony of Alistair's actions was not lost, particularly on Zevran, who still bitterly remembered the treatment of the only other Grey Warden of Ferelden at the hands of the then very insecure and nervous King. His dismissal of her on the grounds of duty and appearances had cut to the bone, and to go back on such values so quickly in the name of politics had riled Zevran to his core. He had tried to turn his back on Alistair then, but Leliana had persuaded him otherwise, assuring him that his goal would be best achieved by remaining at the King's side.

To be fair to the templar, he hadn't exactly been keen on the idea. Both Eamon and Teagan had had to convince the King that if he wanted successful relations with Orlais, then marriage to Lady Iona would be by far the most lucrative choice. And, as cousin to the Empress, to have her on side would be most beneficial, and so Alistair was persuaded to accede to Iona's every 'reasonable' wish. It wasn't until after the birth of his first child, a child that he was certain that was his own (it was amazing what herbal medicine could achieve nowadays), that Alistair had felt comfortable with seeking genuine physical enjoyment in the arms of another. His Queen, whilst obliging and beautiful, made no secret of the fact that she had sex with her husband purely for reproductive purposes, and so treated the act as a necessary chore. Zevran hadn't been surprised when Alistair eventually turned his attentions to his friend and confidant Leliana, who no doubt fulfilled the King's every desire in body as she had done in mind since joining the household.

The meeting appeared to be coming to a close, for which Zevran was very grateful for as he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. They had been talking for near on three hours now, which was plenty of time for stiffness to set in. Although his training insisted on being able to wait for long periods, there was normally enough flexibility within a situation to get comfortable for part of it; unlike when one was a member of the King's guard. He was just thankful he didn't have to wear the ridiculously ornate plate shell that the others wore, and some even had to carry tall standards around with them complete with flags bearing the King's arms. How such an outfit was suitable for men expected to be ready for battle in an instant was beyond him, but he supposed Orlesian fashions would have slipped in sooner or later.

There was a knock on the door. Zevran's eyes widened in surprise; he was unaware of any other guests to this meet today. He caught Leliana's eye, and she nodded in response, her hand shifting slightly so that her bow was in easier reach. Zevran opened the door slightly, moving his body to form a blockade between the corridor outside and the nobles in the room. A guard stood there, biting his lip nervously and looking around.

"Master Zevran, oh I'm glad it's you. Could you....could you step outside a moment"

Zevran narrowed his eyes; he didn't recognise this pup and so could form no judgement as to whether or not foul play was about. He took in the scene before him with a seemingly casual glance. Servants tooing and froing about their business for tonight's proceedings; one of the hounds started barking in the distance but this was not unusual; other guards standing stolidly in position. No unexpected movements in the shadows. Nothing out of place....

"What for man? What's going on?" he asked, peering up at a pale and youthful face. _Probably on his first watch, and starting at his own shadow_ Zevran thought with a sigh. He hoped a higher calibre of man would be on duty this evening; Zevran himself was planning on getting drunk and so would not be on call to assist. The guard looked over his shoulder.

"A l-l- lady, sir, a lady is here to speak to the k-k-King" he stuttered. _Great; an idiot as well as a coward._ Zevran crossed his arms and tilted his chin haughtily.

"And where is this lady, my good friend?" he asked, pointedly looking about. He could see no one.

"T'would be wise to listen to the lad, I think sir".

Zevran froze. Suddenly, standing just behind the guard was an old woman. She was slightly bent over from age, and lent her weight on a long cane made from unusually dark and intricately lined wood. A cloak of homespun wool was wrapped closely around her shoulders, with the hood pulled over her head so that her face was partially covered in shadow. Zevran could see deep lines within her sagging cheeks, but he could not see her eyes. He wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to. He shivered slightly as the power that radiated from the woman crawled along his skin. No wonder the boy was nervous.

"Wait here a moment" he murmured, keeping his eyes trained on the woman. She bowed slightly in acknowledgement, and rested more heavily on her cane, seemingly at ease.

Zevran ducked back into the hall, closing the door quietly behind him. He paused for a moment, trying to take stock of what had just occurred.

_It can't be, can it?!_

Leliana instantly noticed the change in her friend, and coughed politely, causing the men at the table to look up at her. Alistair's eyes widened at the concerned expression on her face, and he followed her gaze to the other side of the room. Zevran was leaning against the door, quite heavily, his tanned skin paled to an unhealthy yellow. He looked like he had seen a ghost.

"Zevran, what's wrong?" Alistair asked, pushing his chair back from the table as he rose to go to his friend. Zevran looked at him, his mouth working as he tried to find words...

Suddenly the door behind him started to open. Leliana's arrow whacked into the wood of the panel in warning.

"I do not mean any harm, I come with an important message for the King" called an old and frail voice. Alistair exchanged glances with Eamon and Teagan, resting a hand on Teagan's wrist as the man went for his sword.

"Come in Lady, you are welcome to share your business" he called. They waited with baited breath, Leliana with another arrow trained on the entering figure. Zevran appeared to have been removed of all his senses, and was nudged out of the way by the opening door as if he were no more than a wooden puppet propped against the frame. His wide eyes followed the elderly woman as she moved past him, hands twitching reflexively near the pommels of his daggers. Alistair could find no explanation for the assassin's behaviour; all he could see was an elderly citizen, probably a relative of one of the maids come to offer congratulations. He did his upmost to mingle with the people, and was on first name terms with more than a few of his servants (much to his wife's displeasure). No doubt this was another such case where his attentions had resulted in overt friendliness from a kinsman.

The old woman entered slowly, her arthritic body shuffling her forwards across the hall. She had a stiff smile on her face, as if in pain but attempting to not show it, but her dark eyes were sharp and bright.

"Your majesty, it is a pleasure I must say" she crowed, dipping her body in what Alistair thought to be a curtsey. Alistair bowed in response.

"Greetings to you my good lady, please, tell us your name and what news you bring"

The woman smiled crookedly, raising her head to meet Alistair's gaze.

"Names are pretty but useless. I have come on behalf of my Lady; she wishes to know if her invitation to your son's birthday party was lost in transit perhaps? Or perhaps her presence was not wanted here this evening?"

Alistair frowned. He could think of no women who would have been offended by the lack of an invitation who had not been accounted for on the guest list....

"I apologise" he began cautiously. "Please, do tell me your Lady's name and I shall have her invitation resent with yourself".

"Ah, no need to bother your majesty; I shall simply inform my Lady Sierra that you look forward to seeing her this evening. She will be most pleased that the new gown she has bought for the occasion will not be wasted."

The woman watched her words take effect. Alistair took a step backwards, as if he had been punched squarely in the gut, the colour blanching from his face. Eamon steadied the man, his eyes narrowing dangerously on their visitor who had already turned and was heading back towards the door.

"Leliana, fire!" he commanded.

"I can't.....move......ser"

Eamon turned to see the wide eyed rogue standing stock still, her bow pulled, ready to let the arrow fly. She was quivering with effort, her breathing shallow and irregular, as she tried to gain some sort of control over the movements of her body. Sorcery held her fast; she was unable to twitch even her little finger.

"Zevran!" Eamon hollered.

The elf was also transfixed, his eyes rolling as he tried to force his hands to his daggers. The hag was approaching closer, appearing to glide more than walk, the folds of her cloak and tunic rippling like waves. She paused in front of Zevran, and looked directly at him.

"We will meet again, of that I do not doubt, old friend" she whispered. Despite himself, Zevran let out a small whimper as he looked into the woman's eyes; whose colour had changed from midnight blue to the brightest amber.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry that this took so long to upload. Time is of the essence for me at the moment, so if you are enjoying the story and would like to read more, please review and I will endeavour to continue.**

* * *

They hadn't left her alone today. On and on it went.....

_Sierra....Sierra...._

_Listen you bitch! You little whoring daughter of a lowlife no good vile useless..._

When that didn't work, they would change tactic.

_You're so beautiful! Come to us precious we will take care of you, come to us, come and see what wonders we can give...._

Sometimes it was more dangerous.

_Its quiet here Sierra, you'll prefer it here. Nice and quiet. Just a scratch, that's all that it would take...._

_Sierra...Sierra_

By now, she supposed that she should be used to it, but, she did wish that they would stop. Just for a moment.

They had become her near constant companions; the thoughts of another twisting and twining through her skull.

Terrible thoughts they were, confused, angry, warped by their own bitterness. Yet they made such promises; of riches, of love; of death. It was maddening, and all the more so because she knew that some of them spoke the truth.

In this way, the child in her arms was trying to consume her.

She felt the small body shift, pressing its face against the thick fabric of her woollen robe as it tucked itself in closer to her warmth. Sucking what it could from her even in sleep. _Still_, she thought, _at least its eyes are closed_. She hated those eyes. Huge black, ancient orbs that scrutinised and judged, watching, ever watching.

The child whimpered, its eyelids flickering as the dreams began their onslaught. Memories of eons past taking root, teaching and tormenting in one horrific nightmare. Sierra began to soothingly stroke the mop of black curls that tumbled over soft peachy cheeks, as she had done every day since the child was born. Two tormented souls taking comfort from each other. The difference was that one soul was becoming that of an Old God, whilst the other was rapidly being eaten alive by said God.

She looked down at the bundle of flesh and cloth, seemingly so innocent and helpless. Even angelic. Soon the dream would stop, and the child would sleep peacefully once more. Sierra scoffed. _Peace_! Nothing with that amount of knowledge of the evils of the world has the right to such a privilege.

Almost unconsciously, her fingers began to shift around the material that partially covered the child's mouth and nose. Such thoughts that went through her mind! It wouldn't take a minute. It would be so easy just to…..

A sharp bolt of electricity shot through her foot, causing her to jump. She grimaced, but was not startled by the attack nor did she attempt to reciprocate. She could hear the witch tsking at her, and her mind's eye clearly pictured that long elegant index finger wagging back and forth in chastisement.

"Now now dear, what have I told you about keeping your murderous intentions to yourself" she said, gently resting a hand on Sierra's hooded scalp as she gracefully sat down beside her. Sierra grunted in response, and turned to press her forehead against the witch's in greeting. Morrigan smiled warmly at her, but it was a sad smile also.

"You will be going to Denerim tonight Sierra, as yourself. There will be no need to create a guise, and no, I shall not mask that which you would rather hide. You need to do this my friend. And besides I cannot maintain such an illusion from a distance for the length of time that you would require. I have a child to care for after all".

The witch spoke quickly, making quick sharp movements as she threw incense on the fire and stoked the ashes. She was nervous also. The two women hadn't spent longer than half a day away from each other's side since their reunion all those years ago, and, nowadays, they were bonded by ties far deeper than friendship. This would be a difficult parting.

Sierra was unsure of what to say. She had to go, but every bone in her body screamed at her not to. She didn't want to leave her friend, the familiarity of the road. The freedom offered by the wilds.

But, Morrigan's child was killing her, and it would only get worse as it the God grew in strength. It hated her with a vengeance, viewing her as one of the darkspawn, a minion of those who had rendered its world in two all those millennia ago. It did not understand that she was merely tainted. In her it smelt its own demise, and it was not about to risk losing what it had waited for for thousands of years.

She had to get away from it, if she wished to live.

"Thank you Morrigan, for everything" Sierra whispered. She couldn't quite look her friend in the eye, not wanting to appear weak as she felt the tears begin to threaten.

In a rare display of gentle affection, Morrigan took Sierra's tiny hand in hers, and gave it a squeeze.

"We will meet again love. We will meet again".

She didn't sound very sure.

Sierra nodded stiffly. The two women stared into the flames, lost in their thoughts, as the next keeper of the world stirred in Sierra's arms. It for now was blissfully ignorant of its role in the world and the terror that it would one day reign. Sierra hoped that such ignorance would last for a long time yet.

* * *

THUNK THUNK THUNK.

Leliana flinched slightly at the ferocity with which Zevran's blades sunk into the target dummy. One already lay destroyed, a decapitated, mangled heap of straw and sack fabric propped up against the wall. The bard watched as the remaining guardsmen quickly abandoned their sparring and vacated the barracks courtyard; clearly this was not a safe place to be right now.

She didn't mind, it allowed her to take in the view at her leisure. Zevran was beautiful; stripped to the waist, his sinewy muscular body launching at the dummy in a series of quick thrusts and flowing special attacks, his poise perfect, his form elegant and dangerous. Yes, Zevran was very beautiful.

But, she wasn't here to gawp.

"I've decided, I'm not going" Zevran panted, as he stuck his right dagger deep into the neck of his cloth covered victim. Leliana rolled her eyes and stepped from the shade of the arching doorway that formed the barracks back entrance. She had hoped that it would not come to this. If he thought she was about to let him miss this opportunity, the one chance that he had been waiting six years for, then he was more fool than she had figured.

Lifting another practice sword from the rack, she approached her friend and tapped him hard on the shoulder with the flat of the blade. Zevran paused in surprise and twisted his neck to look at her, arm still raised in preparation for his next attack.

"Come, if you wish to fight something, do it properly" she said calmly. If she was going to remedy this situation she had to get rid of some of that testosterone, and she wasn't about to sleep with him. Zevran turned to face her, one eyebrow raised, bronzed chest heaving in exertion.

_Maker, I hope I maintain some dignity throughout this_

Zevran could take her all too easily in a one-on-one fight; he was far more skilled at close combat than she was despite the lessons that she had been taking. All she could do was hope that he was tired enough to make mistakes.

Leliana began to circle, and felt her stomach sink at the slow secretive smile that began to spread across the assassin's face.

_This was a bad idea....._

Zevran leapt forward, one blade arcing high, aiming at her face. The other swung low at the last minute, attempting to crack her across her knees and bring her to the floor.

She hissed in surprise, and scrambled to parry both blades. She managed it, just, but was now off balance, effectively pinned with arms and legs splayed and at a significant disadvantage.

Zevran pushed, his smile broadening as he felt the bard slip backwards on the dust under his weight. He leaned in to bring his face close to hers.

"You wanted something my dear?"

Leliana narrowed her eyes at him in annoyance. Grunting at the effort, she flung the elf off of her blades and sent a couple of quick flicks at his chest and stomach whilst he regained his footing. He parried them easily, but beating him was not the point (nor would it be possible).

"I'm here to change your mind sweetness" she retorted, attacking him with a number of short quick jabs that forced him into a defensive posture. He even had to take a few steps in retreat.

"Such passion today my dear! Are you sure it is I who needs wearing down?" Zevran winked and slowly ran his tongue over his upper lip. Leliana grinned, and decided to go straight for the jugular.

He was going to be really mad at her for this.

"6 years Zev, that's a long time to wait. Are you going to give up on love a second time?"

Rather cruel, but she figured that it would be enough.

She was right. Zev's face darkened into a frown, and he faltered his parry. Leliana saw the opening and took it, falling rapidly to a crouch, swinging the blade wide so that it caught her friend squarely on the ankles taking his feet from under him. He fell unceremoniously on his ass, grunting as the impact shook through his spine into his skull. His upper body collapsed to the ground, and he lay there, breathing heavily.

Leliana slowly stood and walked over to him, hand outstretched in an offering of peace. Zevran raised his head to look at her. She paused; he was angry. He was very angry. The only other time Leliana had seen Zevran look like that was when Alistair admitted that he would be housing the lover of the woman he had married.

This might not have gone as planned.

With a vicious snarl, he grabbed a handful of dirt and threw it at her face, successfully hitting her eyes with a shower of fine dust. She gasped and backed away in surprise, bringing her hands up to try and shield herself. It was to no avail, the tears flowed as the shards of sand worked their way into the soft tissues. Blinded, she saw Zevran's form rise from the ground, and became very aware of how vulnerable she was in the company of one pissed off assassin.

There was an awful silence, as Leliana frantically rubbed at her eyes in an attempt to restore her sight.

"What about Alistair?" he suddenly spat. His voice cracked, as he tried to cover the raw pain and fear that churned inside of him, and Leliana felt a terrible guilt wash over her. Maker, what if he was abandoned again? Was she really asking him to risk that?

No, she was doing what was right, she knew she was...She had to be.

"I'll deal with Alistair" she whispered. She had no idea how yet, thankfully she had managed to avoid him since Morrigan's revelations. Maker knew he would be going through his own personal hell also, but, he had made his choice. Nobody had given Zevran the chance to make one of his own.

The silence continued.

"Ok Leli".

He whispered the words, his voice heavy with regret and the knowledge of what damage tonight could do. Tonight, he would be made or broken, and he wanted to make sure that she knew that.

She heard Zevran's boots crunch over the ground as he walked away from her, and hung her head, praying that it would all be ok.


End file.
